Rus Articles Journal

Metamorphoses of

Sea. A red sphere of slowly dying sun. The sunset sky in fancy clouds - metamorphoses. Whiffs. Lonely boat. Small, with the overturned sail. Salty waves of storm to it is white ironed its ancient little body, severe sea winds ruthlessly tore a sail. With the last bit of strength solar needles from gold through pierce the salted, defenseless canvas, and are scattered on thousands of bright diamonds, leaving the delightful road from sea air and light which conducts directly on the sky.

Cries a violin. Sobs violently, but it is silent, on - Jewish. Cries about the love lost forever, about irrevocably left youth, about the left native earth with its dazzling blue sky without uniform cloudlet, with its sweet hot bread, with her kind simple people … Ah, as she cries! Its sounds flow in the heart while it is more vulnerable than everything when it flung away from itself armor of indifference and pretense, greed and hypocrisy, and it begins to cry together with a violin, persistently driving to the dried-up throat …

Friday. 16:00. Until the end of the working day one hour. Behind a window dirty snow. The habitual working situation reigns in office. Roar of voices. Clang of printers and computer keyboards. Single shots of the closed door. Rustle of glossy magazines. Trite jokes. Bearded jokes. Gossips. Discussions for eyes. What to prepare for dinner and where to go. How to spend days off. “Beauty is not happiness“. Beauty or ugly creature. Again gossips. Chief of a trestle. Director miser. Kuznetsova from supply is pregnant. Bondarenko in an insole was drunk yesterday. Again gossips. The chief asked to prepare tea. Goat. The Kremlin diet is better Japanese. Kireevskaya has no taste at all. That is that is that is that is that is that … …. As I hate all of them …

Ya - that small lonely boat. My sail is salted by seven seas and torn by thirty winds. My bottom became thinner, and sides became sloping from sea water. My Kiel in necklaces from sea cockleshells. I was kissed by the hot tropical sun and caressed a gentle moonlight. To me eternal seagulls - tramps sang the song of wanderings, and cheerful dolphins specified to me a way home. I talked to stars and breathed aroma of eternity. I heard breath of the Universe. Ah, as I lived as I lived …

Ya - the sad lonely violin tearing heart to parts. My strings were torn more than once. My right side was absolutely wiped from touches of those who played on me. From cold, a sunlight and a rain the varnish on me cracked. On me salty sweat and bitter tears. On me warmly tired out human hands. On me traces of hopes and disappointments, love and hatred, pleasure and a grief. I am false a little, but almost nobody notices it because all are shaken by that feeling which is given rise tormently by my four old strings. I pay about days former, about what you will not return. I am a conductor between people and the sky … the Working day is finished with

. I switch off the computer. The picture with the boat disappears, sounds of a violin cease. I put on a coat. I close a door. To me it is madly sad. I am lonely. I go home. Houses I will eat, sleep, watch TV again, to get drunk, swear at the wife, to feed a cat, to take out garbage, to bring up the daughter, I will go to work, to come from work, to ask myself eternal questions … I know that in half an hour an image of the boat with music of a violin will disappear from my memory, having given way to more trivial problems. For it I almost hate myself. But the voice of reason says to me that it is necessary to live further. For now I hear divine game of an old violin and the proud small boat which talked to stars and heard breath of the Universe is always on the mind.